


eidolon

by chocomelon



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Betaed, Character Death, Death, Demons, FHQ, Final Haikyuu Quest, Flashbacks, King Oikawa Tooru, Knight Iwaizumi Hajime, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Theatre, War, and its important, as in they watch a play, he doesnt die at the start i promise, im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27629798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocomelon/pseuds/chocomelon
Summary: [Eidolon | ʌɪˈdəʊlɒn |: 1. an idealized person or thing 2. a spectre or phantom]Hinata runs his blade, shining like the Sun, clean through Oikawa’s chest, and Hajime howls, lungs burning, because he hadhoped.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 28
Kudos: 114





	eidolon

**Author's Note:**

> This was a mini-project of mine that I’m very excited to be getting out. I got the idea for this fic while reading the play ‘Photograph 51’ by Anna Ziegler. A lot of the dialogue in the last few scenes of this fic is heavily inspired by the climactic scene of the play, as is a lot of the fic itself. However, the subject matter and plots of the two are very different so there is absolutely no need to know anything about it. 
> 
> A lot of headcanon’s about this specific AU of the Final Haikyuu Quest is directly taken from lahdolphin’s ['Stars Aligned'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15589377/chapters/36193968) fic, which I absolutely recommend(!!), though certain things are different. Basics are that Oikawa is not actually the demon king, but rather was the king of Seijou who was possessed by the demon king to do horrible things, wage war etc. Hanamaki and Matsukawa, among other high-ranking knights and nobles, were possessed by lesser demons and common knights of Seijou were controlled by these demons, though mages eventually figured out how to break these control spells. *phew* I hope that wasn’t an information overload but I kinda glossed over it in the fic and didn’t want anyone to be confused. 
> 
> Betaed by my friend jaccccc.
> 
> EDIT: now accompanied by [this beautiful fanart](https://www.instagram.com/p/CK9lgKiF8oE/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link) by [ryan_scribbles](https://www.instagram.com/ryan_scribbles/) on instagram
> 
> Without further ado, I’m really pleased with how this turned out so I hope you enjoy!

A grotesque grin cracks open his face, so viscerally wrong it breaks Hajime’s heart like a cracked egg. It doesn’t belong on his face, that manic smirk, his face cleaved open, teeth pointed and jagged, like weapons in their own right. He would never have done that to himself voluntarily. Always liked to keep his teeth clean and straight, skin smooth and glowing.

There is blood on his skin, now. Bits of blown-off flesh stuck between his teeth, caught in his eyebrows, and smeared on his face like warpaint. Seijou doesn’t do warpaint. Fukurodani does. Karasuno does. Oikawa wouldn’t do it merely by virtue of his surface-level hatred for Karasuno, but also because he loves his culture’s customs – loves Seijou’s regal knight’s uniform and the clean-cut precision of their obsolete military.

_Loved._

_Almost_ obsolete.

Hajime has to remind himself of these things more often than not. The past tense. The change in the years. Sometimes it’s less hard, with the proof standing stubbornly right in front of his face. Savage smile, blood-flecked face, blood-lusting eyes.

Oikawa. But not him. A monster in his skin.

It was meant to be a metaphor. Only a monster could be capable of such tyranny. Until it was real. Oikawa’s body hadn’t been his own for so long before anyone had realized. Before it was too late. Before too much time had passed and the demon had gotten too comfortable to relinquish his hold.

Imagining it a thousand times would do no justice. There was no exact imagination strong enough to predict how this would shred Hajime open: seeing Tooru chased from his own body, occupied by a demon that was undoing his life’s work. There was no way he could have known, could have prepared himself for this type of pain. So clearly able to see what was wrong but powerless to fix it.

He had left Seijou to find someone who could fix it.

Oikawa takes a decisive step forward, foot falling right through a decayed and bloody corpse and Hinata reflexively flinches back, but then consciously moves forward again. Hajime stands steadfastly behind him, as support, but also to block off his exit. To make sure he sees this through. This is Hajime’s answer, his final resort, his only trump card. Hinata. The Child of the Sun.

Once, Hajime would have called himself an honorable man. A kind man. One day, long ago, he would’ve balked at using this _kid_ in his war efforts, in this hell-like battle. People still called him kind, but there was no way he could agree. He defended the kid up until here, through the demon-ridden palace of Seijou, yes, but he cannot say with full conviction that it was to ensure his wellbeing. That kindness has been burnt out of him. Hajime is a selfish man. He had protected Hinata, and Kageyama and Kozume by extension, because they were his only hope of returning Tooru to him.

When did he start thinking of them as tools?

He supposes that’s a trick question. There was never a point where they were wholly their own people in his eyes. What a selfish, cruel man he has become.

And yet, he can’t find a single drop of remorse in himself. If this is the price to pay, he’ll pay it a million times. His conscience for Tooru back. A simple enough deal. A cheap barter.

Oikaw- _The Demon_ releases a crazed laugh, his head tipping back to an unnatural angle; Hajime worries it might snap off. Kageyama knocks his bow. Kozume clasps his hands to his staff, muttering quickly under his breath. Hinata falls into stance, readjusting the grip on his sword, dropping his weight back onto his knees, steady and even. In the right light, it looks like his blade is glowing. Maybe it is glowing. He _is_ the Child of the Sun.

Hajime exhales and assumes a similar stance, no longer shocked to stillness by Oikawa’s unseemly appearance – or at least, not acting like he is. There is still ice in his veins but he forces it to thaw with fiery determination. He brought Hinata this far for a reason. He _will_ get Tooru back.

The corners of his vision blur, smudging the whole field of dead bodies into singular colors, the distinct hue of dried out blood, seeping into the ground. A kind of saturated brown that stems from dark red. More than anything, more than even vivid crimson, it looks like the particular shade of death. Of massacre. Of slaughter so entrenched that it has had time to sink into the Earth.

It makes him sick, the kinds of things the demon had forced Tooru to do. Hajime can’t even begin to conceive the horror of it, the actions themselves, and Tooru’s horrible inability to do anything about them. If he thinks about it too long, he might throw up his meager rationed meal right here on the final battlefield. It’s not the only thing here that makes him feel so.

But it’s a battlefield. As much as he denies this specific scene as something he was trained for – the torn apart, dismembered bodies are far too gruesome to be human – he was a knight. This is something he knows. He is no stranger to fighting.

The head of Kozume’s staff glows, and with it Hinata’s blade. When Hajime concentrates, not that he spends too much of his attention on it, it’s clear they are not connected. Hinata’s palms look as if they’d been dipped in powder, or liquid gold, heating up from the inside. He’s making his sword power up all on his own.

Kageyama lets an arrow fly. Oikawa barely has to look at it to bat it away, inhumanly fast. His grin grows in size, if that’s even possible anymore, a straight cut through the middle of his face. Like nothing Hajime’s ever seen before. Not to be deterred, Kageyama lets another loose. And another. And a couple more.

The speed with which they are coming at him seems to aggravate Oikawa; Kageyama’s not the most accurate and adept archer in Karasuno for no reason. His mark is always dead on and dead fast. Kozume unleashes his barrage of sharpened icicles at him, unrelenting and numerous, and that takes even more effort to throw off. It surrounds the very air around Oikawa.

Somehow he manages to dodge them, sweeping his hand out to redirect some of them, and darting away to escape others. The way he moves is stilted, though, uncertain. _That’s not the way Tooru moves,_ something inside Hajime speaks and it should make raising his sword against him easier but it doesn’t. Hajime never thought they would be on the other end of each other’s blades like this. Hajime had been naïve. Hopeful.

Perhaps he was still being hopeful. He had nothing left.

When it seems the demon is getting overwhelmed by the barrage and by Hinata’s almost invisible maneuvering – that kid as fast as a teleporting ghost – Hajime draws himself up and joins the attack.

His intent is not to hurt or maim. That has never been his aim. He weaves backward and forwards, just close enough to take Oikawa off guard, and then draws far away. He only exists to create an opening for Hinata to work his magic. Hinata had told him, once before, when he was brave enough to ask, that he didn’t understand exactly how the magic worked, but there was an instinct in his gut that told him when the moment was right he would _know_ and his body would move on his own.

It hadn’t sounded like a promise or any sort of guarantee that Hajime could put his faith in, but he’d had no choice. It hadn’t sounded like a method for attack, an assassination plan either, more like an archaic form of magic, that could only be accessed by _feeling._ That’s why, like a fool, Hajime had given in to hope. The fool’s belief.

It’s why he is not prepared. It’s why he’s shocked. There’s an opening, a clean break, the perfect chance and pause in Oikawa’s steps where he’s just off his guard and this is the moment for Hinata to do his magic, say the magic spell or wave his sword or call upon a deity or some sacred shit. Hajime waits, but Hinata does not do any of that. Instead, he takes off from his spot, speeding towards Oikawa.

Hinata runs his blade, shining like the Sun, clean through Oikawa’s chest, and Hajime howls, lungs burning, because he had _hoped._

The fire extinguishes in Oikawa’s eyes, leaving only the golden brown Hajime had fallen in love with.

♔ ♔ ♔

The play is convoluted and dramatic.

Tooru loves it. That makes it enough for Hajime to love it too.

He’d caught wind of the famous acting troupe coming into town to set up in the theatre, and reported it to Tooru with excitement. Tooru loves any and all plays. He’ll take any chance to sneak out of the castle for one night to enjoy himself among the commoners, among the revelry and festivities of the ordinary people, wrapped head to toe in coverings so as not to be recognized, a small dagger tucked away into his cloak just in case. He won’t need it anyhow. That’s why Hajime is here.

So he’d told Tooru and snuck out of his own room to pick up Tooru from his, quietly escorting him to town. The darkness was as good a cover for their prohibited escapades.

Tooru had once told him that the plays he watches in the palace are too uptight and censored, far too high brow and ‘intellectual’ to be entertaining. _They’re always wary of upsetting the nobility somehow,_ he had said. _They cut out too much of the jokes and romance. It’s no fun._

Hajime has caught snippets of those plays before and he has to agree. In comparison, the few plays he’s seen in the theatre in town have been wilder, less restricted. Crude jokes met with raucous laughter. Women swooning at forbidden romances spun between social classes. They are never afraid of allowing the spirits into their stories either. Where the nobility have duties to uphold to them, honor and responsibilities, the commoners fancy themselves less caring of such rigidity. The Gods are either benevolent or cruel and won’t be swayed any which way by their actions. If the King disrespects a Spirit, his entire kingdom may suffer, but if a peasant was to do the same… there is no one to care.

Spirit stories abound. Tooru loves these the most.

It is one of these stories tonight.

The prince of a nation, Hibaraka-ou, is beloved by all of his countrymen, but most especially by his dearest friend, Yasutake, a knight sworn in by equal amounts duty and affection to protect him unto death. Hibaraka-ou is still only a prince but has the support of all his advisors and servants, and all the people in the land think he will make a fine king once his father passes. Hajime secretly thinks he knows someone himself much like that. That everyone in the audience knows and loves someone very much like that.

On a mission with a group of his most trusted knights, Yasutake included, Hibaraka-ou unfortunately falls prey to an enemy arrow, and bleeds out on the arm of his fondest, before he ever gets a chance to ascend to the throne.

 _The country grieves, but none more than one,_ the narrator says, his voice booming and echoing through the spacious amphitheater, but chillingly quiet at the same time. On stage, the man playing Yasutake weeps openly into his hands as the sets of different seasons revolve around him. The ragged quality of his voice strikes Hajime. It sounds like he has been screaming for so long there is nothing left to rub raw in his throat, walls already scrubbed hoarse and hurt. Out the side of his eye, Hajime glimpses at Tooru, who is enraptured, tears swelling at the corners of his eyes, red-rimmed. Hajime turns back.

What hurts most of all is his recognition that was Yasutake, if the same thing happened… He would act no differently.

 _His regret, most of all, is that he could not protect the prince._ The narrator continues. _There is no end to his suffering, so dearly had he loved the prince. He never stops his mourning, until there is no reason for him to mourn._

Hibaraka-ou returns to the stage, this time in robes of the purest white where before he was in varying shades of blue. _A ghost,_ Hajime realizes immediately. But Yasutake doesn’t know yet. Or maybe he does and ignores it. There is just enough insinuation in the acting to keep Hajime guessing.

The ghost prince informs him that the bandit ambush was actually part of an elaborate scheme to take down the members of the royal family one by one and that there was a traitor among the hand-picked knights that had sold their location to the enemy, securing the success of the attack. Naturally, Yasutake embarks on a quest to hunt down this traitor and to stop the assassinations of the King, Queen, and Princess, all with a ghost helper handy. Yasutake rejoices in having his friend by his side once more.

Of course, it is nothing but temporary. Spirits of deceased humans are only given so long to resolve their regrets before they are pulled back. Yet this doesn’t stop Yasutake from halting in his grieving and returning to life with Hibaraka-ou as if he were still alive.

But there is something wrong with the way Hibaraka-ou acts, his lovable teasing and affectionate touches more pronounced than it was before his death. Hajime marvels at the fact that he can tell the subtlety, nudging Tooru in the side to confirm that he feels the same stupor.

The mission set out before them is hard and they have to navigate a web of lies and schemes, but together, Yasutake and Hibaraka-ou root out the traitor, exacting revenge, and cut off the coup at its head.

Yasutake stands at the front of the palace, looking over the city he saved, and is frantically confused when the light pours in from what is supposed to be a night sky. (In the play, this takes the form of some truly spectacular flame-works.) And it is like the sky is opening up for the first time since Hibaraka-ou died, the lighting has been so dimmed since then, like a flood coalescing from the heavens to retrieve his soul.

Tooru grasps Hajime’s arm with his hand, nails digging into his muscle. When Hajime looks, his lashes are clumped with tears and his teeth dug into his lower lip in concentration. Hajime swallows, places his other hand where Tooru’s lay.

There have been a thousand nights, a million moments of them touching, the heat of his closeness seared into Hajime’s brain, but one day in the future, this will be the one he remembers, the farthest he had gotten.

Hibaraka-ou disappears into the light, silent as the ghost he is, and Yasutake cries for a long, long time before he turns and tearfully walks to the throne room, where his duty as a knight awaits him.

♔ ♔ ♔

Hinata extracts the sword from Oikawa’s torso with a sickening squelch, with a whooping cheer.

Blood drips down from it and out of Oikawa at a frightening pace.

The moment all fight leaves him is a visible one, the strings on his body cut loose, knees buckling, and Hajime moves so fast he gets under him before Tooru collapses to the floor. Hajime tries to manoeuvre him into his arms more comfortably, rearranging him so that he can support his back, cradling him.

There’s so much red on him already, it’s impossible to distinguish which of it is his own. A shaking hand comes up to probe the wound, opening his tunic up to see the damage. It’s so _big._ Pulsing out blood in a steady beat, on both sides of Tooru’s torso. Hajime has to choke back a sob.

Tooru coughs wetly and blood drips from his lips too. Oh _god._

His eyes are still bright heavenly brown.

“Tooru, c’mon, look at me. I’m gonna get you help. Just look at me.” Hajime lifts a hand to his cheek, turning it to make sure Tooru _looks_ at him, then lets it drift down again to put pressure on the wound. As if it’s going to help at this point. “Tooru, _please._ ”

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru smiles drowsily, like it takes an enormous amount of effort to do so but he still wants to. “You came.”

“Yeah, I came. Of course I came. Couldn’t let you take over the world.”

Tooru furrows his brows in concentration. “I’m sorry. Oh god, I’m so sorry. I- I didn’t mean to do anything, it was this _thing_ inside me and I tried to get rid of it I swear but I couldn’t–”

“Shhhh,” Hajime says, swallowing back two kinds of pain. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay. I’ve got you. It’s– whatever it was, it’s gone now and– We’re gonna save you and it’s all going to be _fine_.”

Why is it that that comfort comes easiest in lies? Why is it that Hajime can't even believe a single word he's saying?

Everyone’s eyes are on him. Tooru can feel it too, probably. He lets his gaze follow Hajime’s to his wound, slowly killing him, and he smiles like he understands. Goddamn him, there’s nothing to understand. He doesn’t need to make that face.

Hajime locks onto Hinata in front of him, face set with grim victory. “Call a medic,” he orders, because in all of their journey, when Hajime has asked him something he has done it unerringly. Without fail, every single time.

Hinata doesn’t move.

“What are you doing! Call a medic!” Hajime shouts at him.

Expression like stone, Hinata digs his heels into the ground and does not budge.

Hajime turns his frantic attention to Kageyama. “Call a medic! Or a healer. Or a physician. Anyone. _Please._ ”

Kageyama shifts his gaze, bites his lip, shuffles his feet but does. Not. Move.

“He was the Great Demon King. We can’t allow anyone to heal him. The demon might come back, if he is in better health,” Kozume says finally, voice level. “Besides, it’s too late. He doesn’t have long left with a wound like that.”

“So you’re just going to let him die? Call a fucking medic, goddamn it! He’s not the Demon King. He’s just Oikawa. Just _Tooru,_ he wouldn’t hurt someone without reason, he’s–”

“It’s okay, Hajime,” Tooru cuts in. Hajime can’t but stare – at his cracked lips, blood-flecked teeth that he could’ve sworn were fang-sharp just a few minutes ago, at quickly paling skin, at those beautiful _eyes_ –

“It’s okay.”

“It’s _not._ ”

“Remember when we went to watch that play in town?”

It’s so non-sequitur, so out of place in this time and space. It’s a question from a lifetime ago, removed from all this hurt and sadness that has made a lifelong home in Hajime’s heart. And gods be damned, no one will help them and Tooru is talking like he might die and Hajime can’t find it in his poor heart to deny him anything he wants. “Which one?” he asks, voice now a whisper.

Tooru smiles even wider, though it takes a second and some energy that he can’t seem to spare to get there. “You know which one. _‘Eidolon.’_ The one in the middle of the night. The one with Knight Yasutake and Hibaraka-ou.”

“Yeah,” Hajime exhales. “I remember.”

Tooru lets his head fall to Hajime’s shoulder, pleased. “Remember how we stayed behind at the theatre and talked for an hour before the owner made us leave.”

It’s said as more of a statement than a question. “Yes, of course. I remember.”

“You were going to say something to me that day, weren’t you?” Tooru lets his eyes droop closed. He takes a breath, inhaling Hajime’s scent, though he must smell like nothing more than dirt and squalor. “What was it?”

Hajime makes a sound like a keen or a high whine. It hurts his throat. “Hey, don’t close your eyes on me. Please. Keep your eyes open.”

“Okay.” Tooru opens them again, and with it his entire body somehow, without moving an inch. Hajime moves into this space, like coming home, like wrapping themselves in a warm blanket. “What was it?”

Hajime tightens his arms around Tooru impossibly more, nose in Tooru’s hair, still so soft. “You know what it was,” he shudders.

“I know,” Tooru confirms. “I would still like to hear it. Just once.”

Hajime has to keep all the horrid screams inside his mouth and his throat and lungs and heart hurt so much, it’s a physical pain, burning everywhere. He would have given everything, if he’d known Tooru had wanted it. If he’d known it would end up like this. He wouldn’t have wasted any time.

Surrounded by Hinata, Kageyama, and Kozume, victorious in their silence as they wait for Tooru to _die_ , Hajime confesses more than a lifetime’s worth of feelings.

♔ ♔ ♔

The play ended almost an hour ago, but Hajime and Tooru remain in the stands, Tooru still hanging off Hajime’s arm like a leech. They’re not crying or close to crying anymore, thankfully, but they have been chattering excitedly about the play with no signs of stopping and the theatre has nearly cleared out and they still need to sneak back into the castle. Tooru is the tiniest bit sleepy, the grip of his fingers loosening on Hajime’s tunic, but is trying to stay awake to match Hajime’s enthusiasm. The large robes he’s wearing as a covering on his head, embroidered with bright and elaborate stitching of Seijou teal, slips from his head, and Hajime reaches up to fix it.

It is somewhere in between the finale of the play, Tooru awash in the magnificent lighting, a mere observer but looking for all the world like an actor, starry-eyed in the throes of the story, and this moment, that Hajime realizes he is in love.

Or, rather, that he has been in love for a long time.

The owner does his rounds and chases them out and the two of them stumble through the mostly empty streets back to the castle, tired legs carrying on the set route home. The occasional streetlight and full moon cast a glow on Tooru’s face that is difficult to explain; he looks non-human. But he looks at Hajime as if he can find all the answers in him, as if he is the thing that brings him the most joy and it is an honor Hajime does not deserve.

There is this second, this moment, suspended in the passage of time, where Hajime feels like he can spill his guts, like Tooru is waiting for him to. Their feet stumble on stone steps, and Tooru pauses, legs sticking. Hajime stops too like a magnet, knowing he cannot separate, not wanting to.

Tooru stares at him, brows puzzled, cloak concealing everything apart from a sliver of his face, and his gaze holds the unfamiliar weight of expectation. His lips part, ready to speak, to reply.

Hajime thinks about it. He really does. He thinks about how much he loves this beautiful boy, how nothing has ever come close to what he feels for him, how he would lay down his life without question, and it loosens his tongue. It is sitting on the edge, about to come out.

But then he thinks about Hibaraka-ou, about Yasutake, and his pledge to his country. He thinks about duties, about Seijou and his place as a knight, about Tooru and his ambitions as the Crown Prince and he thinks better of it.

Taking Tooru’s hand, Hajime speeds through the town again, weaving them through the servant’s passages and the castle halls, all the way to Tooru’s chamber where he coaxes him to bed and leaves without any other words.

♔ ♔ ♔

A cord comes loose in Hajime’s heart at the request, and he lets the sinewed muscle and his bleeding heart fall out of his chest.

“I was watching you during the finale. The day we went to see that play. And you hadn’t said anything but I thought when you stopped- I thought that that had been your way of asking me. I wish- I wish I had said something. I wish I had told you that I _loved_ you. That you were someone I could be proud of serving. That there was no one I cared about more. I wish–”

He feels Tooru’s hand on his cheek, sees his eyes brighten at the admission regardless of the weakness of his limbs. “Say it again,” he pleads.

“I love you I love you I love you–”

Tooru laughs, and despite all he has been through, it is still as light and tinkling as it was when he was a child. “I love you too.” He bites his lip, but his eyes are dancing. “I thought- When we were watching the play, I thought that I acted too much like Hibaraka-ou and that you had maybe figured me out.”

Hajime’s face shutters, his composure breaks. How much time had they wasted? How many sand-timers had been scattered on a beach, waiting for them to admit this? How many kisses had their forfeited? How many times had Hajime forbidden himself from touching for too long or too much? How do they turn back the clock, fix their mistakes?

“I wish I had told you,” Hajime repeats, helplessly. “Let’s start again, from that day. We go to watch _Eidolon_. We talk about the play for too long in the theatre. This time, when you stop on the way back home, I’ll tell you. This time, I’ll hold your hand. This time, I’ll kiss you, if you let me. Just, please.”

“There’s no way to turn back the clock, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, pulling weakly at Hajime’s ear. Hajime catches his hand and keeps it there on his cheek, keeps him close. “It’s like you never watched the play.”

“I loved that play. Even if you loved it, I wouldn’t have talked about it for an hour with you if I didn’t like it too.”

“Well?”

Hajime squeezes his hand. “The actor for Yasutake was amazing. The way he showed raw emotion. I truly felt for him.”

“Mhmm. What else?”

“I loved the actor for Hibaraka-ou even more. He wasn’t the star, but the subtlety of his acting was beautiful. He was my favorite bit of the play.”

“And?”

“I love that Hibaraka-ou wasn’t really dead,” Hajime croaks, voice breaking. It is more than just a simple statement of fact, more than just a recollection of the events of the play. It is a desperate wish, a plea released into the void of the world. “That he comes back.”

Tooru’s lips trembles. He knows. He always knows what it is Hajime won’t say out loud. “No, Hajime. He doesn’t. Not really.”

“Of course he does,” Hajime says, indignation building up.

“It wasn’t him,” Tooru says. He presses his lips together in a vague attempt to stop them quivering on the verge of tears but it doesn’t work quite as well as he might have hoped. “You know that. It’s why you liked the actor for Hibaraka-ou.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Hibaraka-ou never came back, Hajime. You know that. Yasutake had to let him go.”

“I won’t let you go.”

Tooru finally lets the eye contact break, stealing his gaze away from the cage of Hajime’s want, but where it goes is no better. Here they are, at the end of would, at the finale of Hajime’s epic journey, with Tooru a dead weight in Hajime’s arms even if he is alive, the both of them staring wistfully as Tooru’s wound oozes dark blood. Hajime doesn’t dare look up to see what his companions are doing, what faces they are wearing. It will enrage him all the same.

He had never cared for them that much. Perhaps it carries that they never much cared for him either. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have ended his world as if it meant nothing.

There are so many mistakes to undo. A whole play’s worth of them, unraveling like a cruel reel of all the things Hajime could have done but didn’t. Maybe, if he had told them all that Tooru had meant to him, hadn’t withheld that information like a sacred artifact in his chest, they would have been convinced to show mercy. Maybe if he had shown that he had a stake in this beyond…

The diminishing energy in Tooru’s eyes, the slackness of his limbs, tells Hajime that it is too late to think of hypotheticals. It doesn’t stop him, realistically. Hajime had never been prepared for an end to this war that didn’t return Tooru to him.

He grasps Tooru’s hand, weaving their fingers together. Just this small comfort had been taken away from them for too long. A too-distant memory, rising from the smoldering ashes of their shared childhood. Hajime squeezes his hand, and Tooru returns it with the kitten’s grip that remains.

“I won’t let you go. Ever,” Hajime promises.

“You have to.”

♔ ♔ ♔

_Hibaraka-ou disappears into the light, silent as the ghost he is, and Yasutake cries for a long, long time before he turns and tearfully walks to the throne room, where his duty as a knight of Hibaraka-ou’s kingdom awaits him._

That is the narrator’s famous line at the finale of _‘Eidolon.’_ The ghost of Hibaraka-ou returns to the heavens, fulfilled by the abolition of the assassin group and relieved of regret by Yasutake’s vengeance towards the traitor knight. Yasutake learns to accept Hibaraka-ou’s death by recognizing that he helped him ascend to heaven. That is how the story is given.

But the ghost is no ghost at all. As Hibaraka-ou fades silently into non-existence before a sobbing, desperate Yasutake, it becomes clear that the Prince never came back. Yasutake only wished that he did, and the Spirits had allowed him, somehow, to manifest that guilt and longing and heartache into a mirage of a person.

Yasutake had refused to let go so badly that he had brought someone back to life.

But that is not exactly true.

He had manifested a person, sure, but not the person he had loved. Yasutake’s guilt had sculpted an entirely new being, one molded to be whatever Yasutake had wished him to be. The scarce mentions of Yasutake’s own failures by the ghost. Hibaraka-ou’s convenient over-affection. The new layer of their relationship that had been missing from their previous interactions. The statue-like perfection of this Hibaraka-ou’s skin, unmarred by battles. Unprincely clothing. The lilt of his voice sweeter, the invitation on his face more pronounced.

It was how Yasutake had seen Hibaraka-ou. How he wished they could be.

How powerful a thing guilt was.

And Yasutake had realized. At the end of it all, as Hibaraka-ou, or the shell of him, had vanished without any rituals or proceedings, Yasutake had known that it wasn’t him.

A person that has died can never truly come back.

Yasutake had known this too, but still he had hoped and still he had suffered.

A person that has died can never come back.

♔ ♔ ♔

“Don’t make me,” Hajime begs. Somehow, he recognizes that this is how Yasutake’s grief had started and the thought makes him despondent. Tooru is not dead yet, so there is no reason to grieve. Not yet.

“I won’t make you,” Tooru says, ever understanding. He closes his eyes again, and this time Hajime does not complain. If it is comfortable, if it is something Tooru wants to do, he will let him. “But I wish you would. I can’t make you not miss me – Yasutake never stops missing Hibaraka-ou – but I want to spare you his pain.”

“But he wasn’t pained,” Hajime argues, even though it’s not true. “He was happy when Hibaraka-ou returned.”

“Would you settle for an imitation of me Iwa-chan?”

“No. Never. I wouldn’t stop until I had _you_ back.”

“I know, Hajime. Believe me, I know,” Tooru says. And he does, because Tooru has seen it once already. Right here, right now. Hajime has already gone to the ends of the world for him once, he can do it again. “But- See, Yasutake projects life where there is none, so he can be forgiven.”

“But do you think he deserves to be forgiven?”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

Hajime’s heart is breaking. There is so much to forgive. So many mistakes. So many other outcomes he could have achieved.

“You have done nothing to forgive,” Tooru hisses, sucking in a large breath as he moves too suddenly. “Do I even forgive myself?”

“You haven’t done anything,” Hajime says quickly, glowering when Tooru begins to shake his head. “None of that- none of this” – with at a sweep of his eyes across the desolate plains – “was you. It was all that sick monster. There is nothing to forgive.”

“Then, the same for you.” Before, it would have been said with flippant teasing. Now, it is said with solemn sincerity. Hajime gives a groan in frustration regardless but Tooru takes several ragged, harsh breaths and continues on determinedly. “You have done nothing wrong. You did your best. So you may feel sad, but do _not_ feel guilty. As your _king_ , I command this.”

Hajime swallows past the gargantuan lump in his throat and nods. Tooru must feel it against his hair because he lets himself huff a laugh and weigh down even more in Hajime’s arms. His face is such a stark white in contrast to the dark mess on his stomach, but with a few combs of Hajime’s hand, his hair looks as beautifully windswept as any other day in the palace. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Tooru agrees. Exhales roughly. “I’m… tired, Hajime.” He says it slowly, every syllable making an arduous trek into the outside world. It’s too close. Too soon. There is nothing Hajime can do to stop it now.

“That’s okay. Rest. I’ll be right here.”

He can take off his armor for him at least, if he can do nothing else. Trying his best to not disturb Tooru, he unclasps the fastenings of Tooru’s pauldrons, the flimsy breastplate, that now reveals more of the ugly wound, the gauntlets, the vambraces, removing them methodically.

Tooru peels his eyes open drowsily, watching him as he moves with rapt interest. Or perhaps he’s just focusing on something other than the pain, now that they’re not talking. He doesn’t look at Hajime’s ‘companions,’ knowing that he won’t find any sympathy there.

He is so light without the armor.

“Thank you,” he says.

He is saying it for so much more than right now, than for the armor. This, Hajime knows.

“It was an honor serving you,” Hajime breathes, cupping Tooru’s face once more in his hand, bringing their foreheads together. “I will never serve another like you.”

Tooru groans, from the pain that must be eating him alive, and fights to take every inhale so he can reply. “It was an honor being served by you.”

Without the rapid rise and fall of his chest, his eyes closed, it almost looks like he is asleep.

“I–” He cuts out into a throaty grunt, breathes audible and uneven. The hand he has pressed into his side seems to be doing nothing. His grumbles of pain abruptly cut off into sobs, that he muffles into Hajime’s shoulder. “Spirits, it _hurts_.”

Hajime pulls him closer as if his touch alone could heal him. “I’m so sorry. Tooru–”

“No,” he chokes off. “That’s not… what… I wanted… to say,” he manages, between his crying and loud breathing.

“It’s ok. Tooru, it’s ok. I’m listening.”

“I love you,” he gasps, eyes flashing, with a ferocity that only Tooru could possess on his deathbed. Takahiro and Issei would be proud. “I love you _so much._ ”

It is the final shot that splinters Hajime’s heart.

His eyes fall closed right after, hand falling away from his wound. Everything must be too much effort.

There are so many tears on Hajime’s face, it blurs his vision, falling onto Tooru’s. Tooru can’t even muster the strength to brush them away. There’s an ugly hiccupping sob that tears itself out of Hajime’s mouth alongside all the other tormented sounds he’d been trapping so far.

When he speaks next, Hajime can barely hear him.

“I just want… you to say it… one more time.”

Hajime can’t speak. He can only sob into Tooru’s hair, lamenting all the mistakes he made, all the futures they could have had.

It spreads out before them, like a million shards of broken glass, fragmented crystals, hanging suspended in the air, fracturing the atmosphere, reflecting back into infinity. Hajime tells Tooru and they run away from the castle. Hajime tells Tooru and Tooru is disgusted. He tells Tooru and he is exiled. He tells Tooru and they manage to live, hiding it, in the castle for the rest of their lives. He imagines them all.

They are found and Hajime is executed. They are found and the kingdom exults in it. The demon doesn’t get Tooru. They escape and live as commoners rather than nobles. The demon chooses a different victim. Tooru doesn’t die. Hinata exorcises the demon with a simple spell. Tooru doesn’t die. Hajime finds someone else, more experienced to heal Tooru to normal. Tooru doesn’t die. _Tooru doesn’t die._

He imagines it all, and that one specific possibility, over and over, wishing it into existence, wishing it was a choice.

Tooru deserves better than this.

“I love you, Tooru.”

Tooru doesn’t hear it.

♔ ♔ ♔

They run on the way home after the play, chased out by the owner of the theatre, hurrying to make it back to the castle safely before the knights change their guard shift at Tooru’s room or someone notices Hajime is missing from the knight’s barrack. Their feet trip on the cobblestone, and Tooru stops, feet sticking. Hajime stops too, a magnet inseparable from his pair.

Tooru stares at him, eyes almost frowning, cloak framing his face like the ornate trimming on a painting. Something about it is unfamiliar, carefully burdensome. His mouth is open like he is about to speak but doesn’t know what words to use yet.

Something pools in Hajime’s gut. He could tell him now. Maybe it is what Tooru is waiting for. He thinks about it.

This time, Hajime tells Tooru.

This time, Tooru’s mouth drops open in surprise before breaking out into a beatific smile, creating a false sun in the middle of the night.

This time, they run home hand in hand, talking over themselves, babbling confessions of love and compliments and praises, so loud they are almost spotted by a patrolling knight, and when they reach Tooru’s room, sneaking in through the window, Tooru tugs Hajime down to lay down next to him and they spend the night unable to let go of each other.

This time, Hajime kisses him whenever he wants. Tell him he loves him whenever he wants. When Takahiro finds out, it won’t because Hajime looks at Tooru like something he can’t ever have, but because he looks at him like he can’t believe he has. When Issei sees him casually touching Tooru, it is not a thing of pity, but of feigned disgust hiding fondness.

This time, Tooru ascending to the throne is the most wondrous sight Hajime has the pleasure of seeing, with no inch of dread creeping in his stomach.

This time, Hajime realizes earlier what is happening, when Tooru begins to act strange. They find Hinata earlier, together, instead of on a lone expedition. Hinata exorcises him easier, with the presence of the demon not so strong. There is no reason for Takahiro or Issei to die.

This time, Hajime returns to Seijou castle alongside Tooru, Takahiro and Issei welcoming them back with a large feast thrown for the saved king.

This time, Tooru gets to live, free and unburdened, and Hajime gets to live beside him.

This time.

Once.

Some time.

Never.

♔ ♔ ♔

There is no end Hajime can see to his grieving. He sobs into Tooru’s hair freely, uncaring that he is nothing more than a corpse in his grip where there used to be a human.

Like a broken spell, Hajime hears the first thing outside of Tooru only after his last breath.

The cheers of a successful war campaign. Surprised and excited bellows of victory as they witness who the corpse in Hajime’s hold is.

Ushijima, the campaign leader, approaches the space first with an uncharacteristic lift to his lips, followed closely by his advisor Tendou and the other leaders of the war effort, Nekomata, Bokuto, and Akaashi. Hajime has never seen any of them happier than at this moment.

In some deep part of him, he can understand. The demon occupying Tooru’s body had taken so much from them, from their countrymen. But it had taken from Hajime too, more than they will probably ever realize. The hurt part of him doesn’t care to understand. There is a blade in his chest that will never be gone until the day he dies. He does not want their happiness. Not at this expense.

Akaashi is cheering, hollering excitedly. The expression stretches his normally reserved features, foreign on his face, but he does it anyway. Bokuto, already an excitable man, is throwing Hinata into the air in joy, gathering around more people to assist his endeavor. There are troops of Shiratorizawa and Fukurodani among this crowd, Karasuno, and Nekoma even. And dotted throughout, flashes of blue, men more dazed and injured than others, but proud blue nevertheless, partaking in the revelry.

There is a man there that Hajime had trained. That Tooru had once sparred when he dropped by at the barracks and given friendly advice to, waltzing off afterward with a twinkle in his eyes, leaving the squire awed and frozen. And yet despite that awe, here the man is, rejoicing with the troops of another country against his king, with blood that is not his own staining his uniform. Hajime has it in him to be mad that he had been absolved of his crimes as soon as he was free of possession, where Tooru had not.

There is so much Seijou blue, but there are just so many _people_ altogether, crying out in unbridled happiness, tears of joy being shed all around Hajime, who is still weeping himself.

He is the only one who cares.

The King and Queen are dead, the King long before the affair, the Queen having been killed shortly after by a demon. The Princess is missing, along with her son, Prince Takeru. Trying to escape the massacre surely, but who knows if they were successful.

Takahiro and Issei are dead. He had not been there to see it happen, but he ended up in the same fortress on his journey and found their bodies, deserted in a corridor after a fight with a group of the war campaign – brain-washed by demons to fight, no doubt, like all the other nobles and generals – and something had fractured irreparably when he had noticed their faces.

The soldiers and subjects of Seijou have turned against them, but who wouldn’t. Their king is a tyrant, so far as their knowledge. The blue against the purple, red, orange, and black still rends Hajime’s heart.

There is no one left who cares for Tooru but him.

Ushijima, satisfied with whatever he has seen, turns back to the troops, his voice booming as he speaks. “The demon has been slain. The tyrant king of Seijou has been killed by the efforts of you all, but we must pay our respects to the true heroes.” He glances back, signaling the men around him to straighten up in front of the audience. Hajime does not move. “Hinata Shouyou, Kageyama Tobio, Kozume Kenma, Iwaizumi Hajime. You will all be henceforth recognized as saviors, for your bravery in defeating the wicked fiend that has been terrorizing this continent. They cornered the tyrant, with Kozume’s offensive magic, Kageyama’s impeccable archery, and Iwaizumi’s swift maneuvering, creating an opening for Hinata, the Child of the Sun, to deal the killing–”

 _Stop it,_ Hajime thinks. _Please stop._

There is an army in front of him, a victorious one. He can’t give voice to his thoughts.

“– blow. The tyrant is dead,” Ushijima finishes. “The world is saved. We must pay our respects and gratitude to these young men, and to the spirits, but you must also acknowledge every man. Your work is done! Rejoice!”

Violent cheers erupt from the crowd, a maelstrom of colors twisting into another – magenta, red, orange, black, white, _Seijou blue._ Oikawa’s blue. A whirlwind of movement starts up again as the soldiers are dismissed to seek revelry or medical attention as they wish, wrapping up their comrades in tight hugs, grateful they are alive, or returning to the medic tents to search for an injured friend, or booking it straight to the nearest town to send word of their victory to their families.

There is no one left to care about Tooru.

There is no one left for Hajime to go home to.

Hajime is so _tired._ So frayed. An ember waiting to be struck so it can burst into an angry flame, like any one touch or prod will set him alight.

Tooru’s face grows paler by the second, his muscles seizing, veins visible. Still, he is beautiful. Hajime watches him, holding him impossibly gentle, as the life slowly leaves his already dead body, in all those little ways that only medics care to analyze. His body loses warmth, though it had already been doing that as he was bleeding out. It’s so wrong; Tooru was always like a furnace next to him, skin hotter and more sensitive than Hajime’s. His muscles lock up. It’s wrong. Tooru is supposed to be trapped in perpetual movement, too much energy flowing in his bones looking for a productive outlet. His eyes are still closed. Wrong, wrong, wrong. He had always slept too little, staying up into the night to review lessons from his tutors or do research into the issues from smaller towns. His eyes were always shining.

Hajime doesn’t even notice that all the troops have vacated the area until Ushijima approaches him. Only the leaders of the war campaign remain, circled around him.

“Knight Iwaizumi,” he addresses. “Your aid in this war has been invaluable. I’m certain you would like to rest now, but I would like to assure you that you will be compensated for your efforts handsomely by the Emperor of Shiratorizawa. As with the rest of the nations of Miyagi,” he intones, looking to the others, who nod eagerly.

_No that isn’t- stop, just stop_

“I would also like to personally express my gratitude. You were the one who found the Child of the Sun from his hidden location in Yukigaoka and found this truly commendable group of elite warriors. You were the one who brought them through Seijou and supplied priceless information and insight to the country that allowed us to invade so effectively. You are the one who infiltrated the palace and created an opening for the Child of the Sun.”

_Please, stop-_

“Killing the tyrant king would have been impossible without you, Knight Iwaizumi–”

“Stop that!” Hajime screams, finally tearing his eyes away from Tooru to stare defiantly at Ushijima. “Just- stop that right now!”

Ushijima gazes at him, unbothered. “I can’t. It’s what happened.”

“Stop that right now. I don’t need your money or your titles or our rewards. I need him. We start over. At the beginning. This instant.”

“What are you saying Iwaizumi?” Ushijima says, puzzled. Beside him, Bokuto wears a similar confused expression. Akaashi is lost in thought, not as confused but clearly disapproving.

“Why would we?” Bokuto asks. “I mean, we won, right? You won. The savior of the Miyagi Continent. It was the best moment of your life!”

“No, it wasn’t!” Hajime howls. The dim lighting of street lamps. The cobblestone beneath his feet. Tooru, his face gorgeously opened, welcoming, waiting, wanting. “We start over,” he says to Tooru. What is left of Tooru. “Just us this time.”

Ushijima and Bokuto are still befuddled. Hinata and Kozume quietly herd them away from him, directing them back to the troops and the main camp as Kageyama reluctantly follows. Hesitantly, slowly, they all leave.

Hajime still looks at Tooru, choking on fresh tears. “Please… I need…”

♔ ♔ ♔

Yasutake lives.

Hibaraka-ou is dead. He is never coming back. No amount of wishing and hoping and regretting will change this.

So Yasutake swallows his tears, finally, and heads back into the castle to continue his duties to the kingdom. To Hibaraka’s kingdom.

♔ ♔ ♔

There are shards around Hajime, shattered fragments of other existences.

Sometime.

Next time.

That time.

Then.

Once.

Never.

Always.

Tooru dies.

But because Tooru wants Hajime to live, he lives.

the end


End file.
